Consumed
by mebwrites
Summary: Fate is a cruel thing. It plays with fire. Bella Swan is trying to live her life as normally as a teenager can, knowing fully well that she is a part of Fate's wicked game. All she has to hold onto is a little faith, hoping desperately that she'll make it out without getting burned.
1. Prologue

Prologue

"Destiny has two ways of crushing us…. by refusing our wishes and by fulfilling them."

I've always been a strong proponent of fate. My family never understood why, and I didn't really either. I had no reasons, no justifications. But everything in my soul told me to believe. When things got tough, I told myself that everything would work out as it should. Life is just a story that needs to be unfolded. Everything is there from the very start, outlined in solid black ink, waiting to be traced over by experience.

As far as the future was concerned, I didn't see too much choice. An omnipotent power had it mapped out so specifically that everything in my body was attuned to that path. I wasn't put into this world to waste space. I had a designated purpose, a predisposed agenda of unknowing sacrifice and sin.

I also believed in the power of duality. Everything in life was supposed to be evenly matched, paired off in perfect harmony. Everyone had a soul mate; everything was but one half of a broken whole. The point of life was to search for the other pieces, and to put the world back together until the puzzle came together with divine clarity.

But what if something happened to intrude on destiny's plan? There were so many things that could potentially get in the way. Distance, separation, death; they all ghosted quietly over the earth with the amazing power to tear apart and it happened all of the time.

Fate didn't scare me. It was life that scared me.


	2. Patience

Patience

February 2011

_Well, that certainly could have gone better_, I think derisively, as I yank the heels off of my aching feet, rubbing my toes mechanically to ease their dull throb. I loop my finger through the straps and start my slow, embarrassed walk down the hallway. It's close to midnight and people's doors are still open, and a few catcalls float my way. I groan.

"Hey Bella," Angela say happily, making her way out of the bathroom. She looks calm and resigned as she carries her bathroom bag, and clearly has not noticed my disheveled and self-loathing appearance. I manage a strained smile.

My door is shut and locked, and it takes me a moment to get the code correct, my fingers stumbling clumsily over the buttons as if I were returning home drunk and incoherent. _I wish I were drunk right now. _After the third unsuccessful attempt at getting the door open, I drop my pumps to the floor and start pounding half-heartedly.

"Rosalie! Rosalie, open the door!"

I hear rustling and expletives from inside, and tap my foot against the carpet as I try to wipe the stress and fatigue off my face. The minuscule amount of energy I have left spills from my body, and I suppress a loud sigh. The door opens and Rosalie appears, her blonde curls pulled back into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. She's wearing a silk blue robe that makes her eyes reflect every stream of light in the dorm, casting gold sparks into her crystal blue irises. She is in pajamas and looks stunning, and I want to punch her.

Rosalie appraises me with sympathy, shutting the door behind me and taking my shoes from my hand.

"The date didn't go well?" she guesses.

My laugh is clipped; I'm struggling to sustain my patience. "I should have turned around as soon as I stepped on the bus." There had only been three other people seated when I stepped on: a lonely old woman, a hung-over hobo, and a precariously slouched teenage boy listening to music way too loudly. The bus smelled like bodily fluids and the driver grinned at me through his neck beard. Fate was testing me, but I had, regrettably, chosen to ignore it.

"What happened?" Rosalie inquires, looking hungry for stories without any trace of contrition on her face. She is shameless with gossip.

I had actually been looking forward to my date with Mike, hoping that something might eventually come of it. I was sick of going on useless dates with people I couldn't stand to be sitting across after an initial greeting and ten minutes of chatter. Mike seemed like a nice guy, though, and he was cute, with light grey eyes and a soft smile.

"So I get to the restaurant, and I sit on the benches in the lobby area, patiently waiting for him to arrive." I take my time telling the story, cutting out extraneous detail, feeling too tired and upset to repeat what can only be described as the epitome of my dating luck. I slip out of my black dress and put on my Eagles sweatshirt and leggings, pulling the hood up over my head.

"After a few minutes he shows up, wearing a suit. At first I think, well that's nice, he dressed up for me. And then, I notice that he looks really distressed and his face is completely flushed. He rushes over to where I'm sitting and blurts out, 'I'm so sorry but I need to cancel our date.'"

Rosalie's mouth pops open in surprise, but she can tell by my expression that the best part is coming.

"I can tell that he is flustered so I put my hand on his shoulder and tell him that it's no problem and that we can reschedule. Then he looks me in the eyes and just bursts into tears." Rosalie starts chuckling but I silence her with my eyes. "I honestly have no idea what is going on, so I awkwardly hug him and ask what's wrong. He tells me that he is on his way to his grandmother's funeral and that he wants me to come with him." Rosalie loses all her self-control and laughs wholeheartedly at my expense.

"Oh my god," she gasps, "did you go?"

"I had to!" I yell back, eliciting such powerful laughs in her that tears start forming. Rosalie knows how pathetic my dating streak is, and I know she secretly gets a kick out of my misfortunes.

"So I've spent the last three hours at Nona's funeral. I met the entirety of his family, and I think I still have his dried tears in my hair."

"Oh, lord," Rose comments, wiping her eyes. "This one goes in the book."

"I deserves top prize," I clarify, letting the sarcasm seep into my words.

I climb into my bed, ignoring the clothes that drop to the floor when I do so. I hate when the room is messy but I have no energy to try to clean it, and Rose doesn't care either way. Her side looks like a tornado hit it, anyway. I pull my comforter up to my nose, the same blue and gold comforter my mother bought me before freshman year. She thought she was being clever, allowing me to always "sleep at home" in sheets of my home town's colors. At first I was thankful for them. I blanch miserably every time I see them now, for the reminders of everything I miss and love from Lexington.

My phone is lying on my desk and I have to force myself to stop staring at it. On nights like these, when I just want to lay in my bed and cry, I think only of one person. And I hate myself for it.

Rosalie catches me staring. "You want to text him, don't you?"

"No," I say automatically, a lie I tell so frequently I don't even recognize when my lips form the word anymore. I ache for him, to my very core, and I don't understand why time hasn't ceased the flutter of my heart when I think his name. Shouldn't I have moved on by now, happily seeking male company when it comes my way? I go to Boston College after all, land of attractive men, and many have showed an interest. But it doesn't matter who is walking me to my car or pulling off my coat, staring suggestively at my closed door; they all remind me of him. Except they are never good enough. Not even close.

Rosalie looks at me with the look I swear she uses when luring men to her. Her eyes are large and sincere, the depths of them sinking like dark blue oceans, clear and wise. "When was the last time you spoke?"

I hesitate before answering, and she thinks I am just trying to jog my memory. He texted me eight weeks ago. I remember everything he said.

"A few months ago."

She shrugs, and I know her well enough to recognize it as her sign of approval. She is telling me to do what I want, but I'm not sure if that is the best idea. I roll over toward the wall, allowing my phone to rest quietly unperturbed. With the weight of the day seeping through my skin, my sheets warm up quickly and sweep me off to sleep without another word from Rosalie.

I sleep heavily, shifting in and out of REM sleep too quickly to dream anything coherent. A mass of swirling colors play behind my eyelids, softly back dropped with the plucking of cello strings and heavy-throated murmurings, promises being wasted and never kept. I feel myself running, pushing my muscles faster in a desperate need to escape, but not knowing whether I am running to or running from. I reach my fingers out and clutch nothingness, feeling my fingers wrap around acidly cold air, crushing in on themselves. They twitch out of habit, knowing very well that they belong somewhere else, wrapped around another's fingers to complete the buzzing circuit that constantly electrifies my entire being.

I wake up gasping for breath, my hands and feet twisted in my sheets. I roll over to face my clock, which glares at me with accusing neon eyes. It is only five in the morning. The shades are drawn tight in our room, but there is a silver box of moonlight trying to pry its way into the dorm. The white glow shines directly on Rosalie, who is fast asleep, breathing deeply and steadily, looking angelic and peaceful in sleep. I force my body off the bed, stretching my toes, feeling the strain of them being tightly curled for so long. It is warmer than February should be, and I am thankful for it as I pad down the hall in my slippers. The dorm is silent, and is an eerie array of grays and blacks as I make my way to the bathroom at the end of the hall. I have made this trek so many times before that I barely need my eyes open to do it.

When I get to the porcelain sinks, I put both hands on the frame to support my exhausted body. I look into the mirror, and my face is a mixture of lines and shadows. In such little light, no worry lines are visible; my dimples are hidden, and my eyes droop to a land somewhere between pleasure and death. _This would make a cool picture,_ I think, if I knew anything about photography that is. I am truly worn out, and am extremely grateful that it is Sunday, and I can spend the expanse of the day in my bed and nowhere else.

I return to my room at a sleep walker's pace, taking extra care not to wake Rose with the ominous click of the door returning to its frame. A flash of fluorescence catches the corner of my eye, and I turn to stare at my lit up phone. At first, I think it is a trick of my sluggish mind, but my stomach drops into my lower abdomen and my hands twitch before I can even reach out to it. I pick it up and cradle it in my palm, feeling the warmth of electricity settle into my skin, and get back into bed, resting my heavy head on my pillow before checking my inbox. The screen screams out bright light, causing me to turn away from the harshness. When my eyes adjust, I see a flicker of red next to my inbox, a little star indicating a new message. I don't need to see the name. My body knows instinctively, and it has never failed me before. I click open the new message and watch the screen fill with the same letters that flooded my dreams.

Edward.

***

"Are you ready to go?" Rosalie stands in front of the floor length mirror, approving her perfect outfit dejectedly.

"Nearly," I say, searching around for a minute before I remember what I'm looking for. Glasses. Right. I dive into my covers, which are a scrambled mess at the foot of my bed, and find them in between layers of sheets.

I grab my backpack off the floor and turn to leave with Rose, who is already out in the hall. My fingertips tingle, and I glance down at them with concern. They are fine, but empty. _Dammit._ Where is my phone? I have never in my life been scatterbrained; on the contrary, I am a control freak who loves organization and planning. This always happens when Edward texts me, on the sporatic schedule that only he can know and understand.

Rose and I start our trek across campus, heading for the dining hall before our first class. I love watching the morning sunlight play across the cathedral type buildings on campus, making everything seem like it belongs in an earlier century. I sometimes think that about myself too.

"So, you seem distracted." Rosalie takes in my resignation with a questioning look.

"Sorry," I mumble.

"Worried about something?" She is trying not to be intrusive, but the curiosity is blatant in her tone.

I smile at her, hoping the muscles in my mouth can convince my brain that I am fine. I take my phone from my pocket, and hand it to her wordlessly. A cold breeze blows across the quad and we both reach for our hoods, ready to shield our faces from the wind. We half run, half hop to the doors of the dining hall, which is buzzing with people and white florescent lights.

Rosalie opens my phone and scrolls through it cautiously, looking for the malicious threat. I know immediately when her eyes rake across my messages, because they widen perceptibly.

"Holy hell," she comments.

I can't help but laugh at her reaction. "Yeah." I hate when these things happen, because they change my mood and make me pensive in every moment. Rosalie keeps looking at the phone, even though there isn't much to look at. She bumps a sophomore in the paying line, glaring at him as if it is his fault. I laugh again.

"It's not a big deal," I tell her. She shushes me and gets her food, leading me to our usual table in the back corner next to the window. She places my phone on the table and gets momentarily lost in her breakfast. I assume she is just giving me metaphorical space.

All through breakfast, I barely touch my food. I am hyper aware of my cell sitting gently beside my tray, its heat reverbrating through the table and to my heart.

There are only three little words. It is so cliche. It always amazes me how such little things can wreck so much havoc on one's life._ This is a perfect example_, I think, as I stare at the text for the 19th time.

Three little words. _I miss you._ And havoc ensues.


	3. Wrath

Wrath

December 2009

We sit uneasily in the living room, waiting for the mailman. Edward is toying around with the dog and I can tell by the set of his mouth that he is nervous. His jaw is tight and his eyes are hard, a much darker shade of amber than I am used to. His mom is at the stove, stirring a pot of something that looks delicious and homey, and she looks relaxed. She peeks over the counter to where I am perched precariously on the edge of the couch. My letter is on the coffee table, where I threw it in impatience a half hour before. The emptiness is beginning to burn a hole in my hand as I itch to open it, but I'm waiting. Edward and I want to do it together, at the same time, to be in the other's presence when our futures are revealed and hopes are either swelled or crushed.

The dog starts barking and we both look up to see the mailman pulling up to the house. Edward and I lock eyes for an immeasurable amount of time. I soften my expression and smile, and it calms him immediately. The tension releases from his shoulders as he stands to retrieve his destiny.

"It's fucking cold out," he mumbles, his mouth turned down in his iconic scowl that gives away his façade of calm. His shoulders slump forward against the outside air, making him all angles, and I know it as him putting up his defenses against the world. He is the complete opposite of me; my biggest problem is being _too _open,_ too _defenseless.

I chatter mindlessly with Mrs. Cullen, trying to distract myself more than anything. I'm not quite sure what I am feeling. Everything I feel is flames, licking at my bones, and I need to get up before I am eternally burned. There is an underlying sense of cold, though, my body showing its defiance. Something is about to change, that much is for sure. What I don't know is whether or not I am going to let it happen.

Edward returns, his eyes narrowed, carrying a smile pile of envelopes. He rests it down gently on the counter top and takes the letter on top. Without a word or a glance up, he takes three strides to the coffee table and lifts my letter, cradling the two together in his safe palm. He comes over to where I am sitting and stops in front of me, looking down into my eyes with a smoldering expression. I stand up to match him, though I end a foot below his gaze. Mrs. Cullen looks on quietly, accustomed to watching the two of us communicate completely in silence.

"Ready?" I whisper. He nods stiffly.

He hands me my envelope and I look down at it, watching the maroon and gold emblem pop off the pure white background. He has an identical one. At the moment, I'm not thinking about the contents inside of them. I am only focused on their sameness, and the thought floods my system with calm. _We're in this together,_ I think hopefully. _That's all that matters._

We stare at each other with expressionless masks, a mirror image, unmoving. Suddenly, I feel unbearably overwhelmed. Overwhelmed at the prospect of a future with Edward. Overwhelmed at the prospect of a future _without_ Edward.

We tear at the papers simultaneously, me with a careful, trembling touch and Edward with a rough urgency. I unfold my letter and take a deep breath, staring at the paper without seeing it. I can feel Edward in front of me, but I can't bring myself to read his face. I focus my attention on the words, finally taking them in.

_Dear Isabella M. Swan,_  
_After careful review of your application, we are pleased to inform you of your acceptance to Boston College for the 2009 academic year. With your exceptional academic resume and impressive credentials, we are also granting you our Presidential Scholarship, the details of which are enclosed with information on how to pay your acceptance fee by May 1st. We thank you for your interest in our school and….._

I stop reading, and skip back to the first line, making sure I'm seeing it correctly. _I got in._ My head snaps up and Edward is looking at me, completely blank. I try to match his expression but I can't keep it in; my face breaks into a huge grin. In the same second, he nods his head and starts laughing. He reaches for me at the same moment I throw my arms out, and the next thing I know he is spinning me around his living room and we are both giggling like small school children.

I never really contemplated this moment before. College always seemed so distant to me that I didn't feel the need to worry until the pressure of its looming arrival suddenly began to weigh down on me like bricks. I lucked out the day Fate threw Edward at me. Would I be lucky a second time, Fate allowing me to keep him?

The answer, unbelievably, is yes, the word escaping my lips as I hug Edward tightly. The feel of his arms wrapped around my waist feel like a promise: I'll always be in your life.

"You got it?" I ask stupidly, just to make sure.

"Yes!" His face illuminates the entire room, and I can't be happier.

"Oh my god!" I squeal, finally letting the excitement flow through my veins, pounding my blood in jolts of joy and success. I pull my phone out and dial my father, hopping around impatiently as it rings continuously.

"Pick up, pick up," I mumble, my eyes too bright and feverish.

"Hello?" Charlie answers a bit breathlessly.

"Guess what," I say, trying to sound nonchalant.

"What's that?" he asks, clearly forgetting what day it is and why it is circled on my calendar 3 times in red pen.

"I got my BC letter," is all I say, and I can hear his sharp inhale.

"And?"

"She got in!" Edward yells, ripping the phone from my hand. "Charlie, your daughter is an official Eagle."

I hear Charlie's screams from a foot away and can't help but feel weightless. I am so proud of myself. This had been all me, paving my own way to my dreams.

Mrs. Cullen congratulates us both, giving me a tight squeeze and patting Edward on the shoulder, her face beaming. Many congratulations follow when people at school hear the good news. My friends are ecstatic for me, as are family members and nosy adults that learn of my acceptance. I spend the next two weeks in a type of instant bliss, and find every thought straying to my future. I have already sent in my acceptance check, making the irrevocable decision permanent and lasting. I don't want to let myself get too excited, but I can't help it. Just as often as I think of college, I think of Edward.

I don't talk to him too much about it, but I am ridiculously curious about what this will mean for us. We will have four more years together, and I wonder if it will be the situation that will finally foster our friendship to shift. I love being Edward's friend; there is no doubt about that. The real problem is this: I love Edward. Period.

It is something that I never talk about and never imply, but my feelings for him set a dull blazing backdrop to every encounter we ever have. They scare me; I am afraid that, someday, the flames will encroach upon nothing and send me ablaze, burning alive and lonely. A promised future with Edward does nothing to quash these feelings, but rather, exacerbates them. Our relationship can no longer continue to balance precariously between something good and something great. There is only so long that a person can burn.

I'm driving Edward home from school. He has the day off from practice, and we have midterms to study for, so we are using them as an excuse to hang out on a school night.

"I'm so ready to senior slump," I offer, weirded out by the way Edward sits in my passenger seat: quietly. He is always talking, but he is unusually soft-spoken as he agrees.

"I can't wait to be in college. I'm so excited!" I turn to him, full of joy. "Aren't you?"

"Bella." I am instantly alarmed by the way he says my name. He drops the last syllable, murmuring it softly, his eyes staring straight ahead. I can't read his face, and it makes me uncomfortable.

"What's up, Edward?"

He looks up through his lashes, looking simultaneously innocent and guilty. "I was offered a full ride to Brown and a spot on their track team."

My heart drops into my stomach, and I know I let my face slip for a second. I quickly arrange my expression into a smile, but my eyes must look feral. My thoughts are swirling uncontrollably and my palms are hot. I play the best friend role as is necessary of me.

"Oh my god, Edward. Congratulations! I am so proud of you!" The words are automatic; I pay no attention to what my mouth is saying. My heart is screaming more loudly.

I drive the rest of the way to the house with my eyes focused on the road. Edward seems to cheer up considerably, but I put little effort into our small talk. We walk up the driveway together, Edward shortening his strides to match my steps. This walk is so familiar to me, it makes me cringe. I know exactly how many steps it takes to get to his front door.

Inside, the house smells like vanilla and spice. We go down to Edward's bedroom, which is a large room off the basement. It is always cold and always clean, with a boring cream and navy color scheme. It consists of a queen sized bed, a mahogany dresser, a brown leather arm chair and a tv set. There is a flag over the headboard and pictures lining his drape-less windowsills. It is perfectly Edward in every way.

I always claim his arm chair, and I go to it instantly. I put my school stuff on the floor and make to sit down, but Edward stops me with his arm. He gives me a sly smile, the one that reveals just the bottoms of his front teeth. He pulls me into a tight embrace, leaning down to fit his face into the crook of my neck.

"I think I'm going to take it," he whispers into my hair, his warm breath caressing my ear. He pulls away, and his phone starts ringing. He leaves me with his dazzling smile, and then walks out of the room to take the call.

And just like that, he is gone, ripped from me powerfully enough to sever the strings that so neatly tie us together. I crumple to the floor automatically, weak from the damage. What else are you supposed to do when part of you disappears so swiftly? I stay there for a while, on the floor, wondering if time is passing at all or if my head is just spinning too quickly. My heart struggles to beat through the black ashes strangling it. I look up, expecting Edward to have come back still smiling at me, picking me up and telling me how foolish I look. But I glance up at nothing, the space left for this invisible person leaving a hole in the room and in my life. The void is discernible; I can tell by the emptiness of my soul. But he is gone, whisked away by Fate, and I wonder if he had ever been there at all.


	4. Chastity

Chastity

February 2011

I stand barefoot and half-naked in front of my pathetic wardrobe for the 3rd time. I glance quickly at the contents, knowing very well that I will find nothing new in there, but hoping in vain that something will magically appear. I figure that Rosalie has a flashy dress or tight, revealing skirt I can wear, but I'm not really up for the partying. I am in one of those "get me in bed and never disturb me again" moods. Rose isn't having it though.

"Here," she says, handing me a strapless blue mini dress with silver buttons. "Try this on."

There is a party going on in one of the frats on the north side of campus, and Rosalie is dying to go to it, God knows why. She has been chattering nonsensically all day about it, and about the boy who invited her there. She seems genuinely thrilled by it, which is rare considering long flocks of men are constantly pinning at our door for her, and she barely gives them a second thought. I wonder what is so special about this guy.

"He is GORGEOUS," Rosalie breathes, for I have apparently asked the question aloud. Well, at least she isn't shallow.

"Where did you meet him?" I wonder, digging around my drawers for my one strapless bra.

"In the library." I give her a skeptical look.

"What? I go there!" She yells in mock offense. I laugh at the set of her jaw, the fake horror that she thinks will raise my spirits.

"Mhhm," I mumble, but it has in fact cheered me up. It's not that I don't like being social; I'm just not entirely up for the stress of going out tonight. But I will of course support Rosalie in her quest for this gorgeous boy. I am actually pretty curious about him now.

Rosalie's dress fits me perfectly, and I once again marvel at how I lucked out with getting her as a roommate. We got along instantly, despite our very different opinions on certain things. But I think it is our opposites that strengthen us. She has become my best friend at this school. Beginning with my acceptance letter here, I have experienced a nearly endless stream of luck and good fortune. I find it hideously ironic that so much good has been given to me by BC, when it has taken away the only thing that I ever really wanted.

I quickly dispel these thoughts, partly because I want to be in a good mood for the party, and also because I feel guilty thinking them. I should be more than grateful for everything in my life. And I am, ridiculously so, but part of me still grieves for the one time luck escaped me.

Rosalie is wearing leggings, a long magenta top that flows out at the bottom, and a black belt pinched in at her waist. She has used a curling iron on her hair, emphasizing her already smooth curls. She takes the black pumps I wore on my not-date with Mike, which had been thrown carelessly into a corner, and slips them on. Rose and I have a silent agreement that everything in the room is shared. And that apparently extends all the way to my glasses, which are now perched on Rosalie's nose despite her perfect vision.

"Why are you wearing my glasses?" I wonder quizzically. She looks beautiful, so I don't understand her desire to wear them. I refuse wearing them whenever possible.

"I want to look smart."

Oh, Rosalie. I chuckle, going over and plucking them from her face. "You don't need these. You already look gorgeous."

She puts her arms around my waist, tucking her face against my collarbone. Our thoughts seem to be in tandem tonight. "Thanks, Bella Boo."

She pulls away, looking at me with squinted eyes. "Now, let's make you so stunning that some undeserving man will have his heart broken tonight." I roll my eyes at her but sit under her command, not wanting to talk about broken hearts.

Rose spends the next hour applying various types of make-up, perfumes and hair products to my blank canvas of a body. I come out of it impressed at myself, and at Rosalie's ability to transform me. I look soft and graceful, my eyes played down with light pink shadow but my lips popping with red lipstick. I grow increasingly more excited for the party.

It is one of those evenings when the weather absolutely warrants jackets and scarves, but we go without because we don't want to cover our outfits. We brave the cold and walk across campus, which is creepy in its serenity. We pass across ghosted buildings and silent dorms, wondering why everything is so still. There is a full moon, huge and golden, floating above our heads.

The music reaches us first, soaring over waves of chilled night air as we walk up the stone walk to the front door of the fraternity. There are some people outside, but we walk by them and find our way inside the toasty warm house. Everything is colors and sounds mashed together in swirls of bustling activity, and people everywhere are drinking, laughing and dancing to their own tunes. We slip past some freshman playing drinking games and head toward the back room where we know our friends will be.

I spot Alice and Jasper in the distance when an egregiously bright face interrupts my view.

"Bella?" Oh, lord. I focus my eyes on the ashy blond hair and ocean-water eyes.

"Mike," I say, taken by surprise. "Hey." His face lights up like streetlights popping on at sunset, and I can't help but smile slightly.

"Hey look, I want to apologize for...you know...the other night." He looks down at his shoes and his cheeks flush in embarrassment. I just want to skirt past it.

I put my hand up before he can continue. "It's no problem. Don't worry about it." He beams blue and gold, and for a moment all I can picture is my high school gymnasium, the blue and gold banners circling the ceilings with awards and accolades of athletic achievement. I instantly tingle with nostalgia and it makes me want to cling to Mike. I reach out and gently touch his forearm. "Do you want to get a drink?"

He nods enthusiastically. I tell Rose that I will be right back and lead Mike to the kitchen where tables of food and booze are lined up. Ever the gentleman, Mike gets something for me, locking his eyes with mine so as to keep track of me in this crowded place. It's as if he is saying, _please don't go. _The intensity reminds me of something I can't quite place, and I suddenly feel unnerved.

He hands me my cup and, looking increasingly more courageous, put his hand on my lower back to steer me back to our friends. I catch his hand slipping and something about the movement makes me suspicious of him rather than flattered. We make our way through the house, but before we can arrive at my desired destination, Mike swerves off and pulls me into an empty bedroom on the lower floor.

"Where are we going?" I wonder, following him grudgingly.

"I just thought we could use somewhere quiet to talk. The music is so loud out there." He gestures toward the hall as if the rest of the house is some alien planet that he didn't realize he'd landed on. I take a generous sip of my drink. _Oh, dear._

"Okay." Mike looks so innocent, wearing khaki pants and boat shoes, and I just go along with it. I figure I shouldn't waste my anxiety on a boy like him tonight.

"You look beautiful," Mike croons, stroking my hair. "You always do." It is such a sweet statement, one that I am so unused to hearing, that I am instantly taken aback.

"Thank you," I say softly, my voice cracking.

"I hoped that you would give me a second chance. I know I didn't give you the best first impression." He laughs awkwardly, the type that never reaches his eyes. I stare, noticing for the first time how beautiful they are. His face is so sincere, but there is a hint of guilt underneath it. "I really want to get to know you better."

I open my mouth to agree, that I too want a second try at this, but I am distracted by his hand clutching the bare skin of my thigh. He rakes his finger tips up my leg, inching closer and closer to the hemline of my dress. He isn't even looking at me anymore. His eyes are looking only at my legs, but not really seeing. In that moment, I see clearly his intentions. Beautiful is just a coy. Isn't it always.

Instead of getting angry, I decide to stay calm. I gently push his hand away from my leg, clearing my throat to attract his strayed attention. His eyes lift to mine and I raise my eyebrow at him, but instead of giving me an apologetic smirk as I expect, he jumps toward me and lays his mouth on mine aggressively. I pull back suddenly, and he leans forward again, kissing me this time with sloppy open-mouthed kisses that I have zero desire for. Mike's lips feel rough and raw, and every part of my body just screams that they are _wrong_.

"Mike." I put my hand on his chest, pushing to keep him at arm's length.

"What?" He spits angrily. "Why don't you want to kiss me?"

"I barely know you, Mike. I like to know someone before I start kissing them.."

"That's not what I hear," he mumbles under his breath.

I am astonished. "Excuse me? You only wanted to date me because you thought I was easy?"

He raises his shoulders carelessly. "Well, I don't know if I really wanted to _date _you."

"You asshole." I shove him as hard as I can and stand from the bed, walking as quickly as possible to the door, slamming it shut and enjoying the rattle of the wood in its frame. I am silently fuming, and I don't know what has me more pissed off. I never liked guys who only took advantage of girls for their bodies, but I truly thought Mike was a good guy. He had given me hope that there were at least some respectable men out there. I was beginning to think there were none, and Mike did nothing to prove me wrong. Of course, then I remember that I _do _know one very decent guy, and I become even more pissed.

I shove past throngs of happy people to get back to Rosalie, hoping that she will let me go back to the room, even if I have to go alone. I am so determined to find only her, that I pay no attention to the people I'm passing. I hear someone say my name, in a husky voice that sounds very familiar to my ear, but I don't bother looking to see who it is. I keep pushing through party-goers until I spot Rosalie at the end of a long room, talking to Alice and Angela.

"Bella? Where have you been?" Angela hands me a drink, looking like she has had enough herself.

"I was with Mike! He's a fucking jerk!" I yell, downing my entire drink in two gulps.

"What happened?" Rosalie asks, standing to put her hand calmly on my shoulder. She looks concerned, and her eyes melt softly. Sometimes, even in the midst of a college party crowd, Rosalie reminds me so much of a mother.

"He only wanted to get ass." I answer, making it clear that I want to move on from the subject.

"You deserve better, anyway," Alice says, smiling at me warmly. The other two nod, and I smile at how good my friends are.

"Thanks." I can only manage the gratitude half-heartedly. "What have you guys been up to?"

Alice's face lights up, clearly excited. "Rosalie was just about to introduce us to her new mystery man!" My annoyance momentarily shifts to curiosity as Rosalie winks and starts to lead us through the crowd. Alice and Angela are whispering their guesses as to who it might be, though I am sure it will be someone I have never seen before. Angela thinks he will be a dirty blonde, but if I know Rose she would never go for a blonde. We go into the room adjacent to the kitchen, where a crazy game of civil war is taking place. Rosalie bee-lines for the far corner where a group of large boys is huddled.

Alice, Angela and I struggle to keep up with her pace, even though we are just as anxious to see him as Rosalie is. Finally, she comes to a stop, and from half-way through the room I see her pull on one of the boy's arms. He emerges from his huddle, and he looks tall and muscular, with dark hair that is almost black. I smile at myself, throwing Angela an elbow as an I told you so.

At that moment, the boy turns to look at us approaching, clearly trying to judge whether or not he should be worried. My eyes lock with his dark green ones, and I stop dead in my tracks, my mouth popping open. Suddenly, the familiar voice I heard in the hall comes flooding back to me.

"Bella?" He asks again, in the exact same tone as before. He hustles over to meet me in the middle of the room, and Rosalie looks confused.

"Do you know each other?" She asks, giving me a really odd look. He nods enthusiastically and reaches out to pull me into a tight hug. I hug him back stiffly, realizing several pairs of eyes are on me.

"Yeah we do!" He answers, grinning brightly as he lets me go. "Ol' Belly here used to be best friends with my brother."

Everyone looks as shocked as I feel, and I continue to stand there unmoving, and not blinking.

"Who's your brother?" Rosalie asks, her voice small. I think she knows the answer before it comes, and I close my eyes in expectation and preparation.

His smile grows even larger. "Edward Cullen."


	5. Lust

Lust

September 2006

I was deathly afraid to go to high school. I hate change, and I didn't want to give up the comfortable life I had created for myself in middle school. I knew I would make it through alright; I just didn't know at what cost. I worried that I would get lost and have to stumble my way to class ten minutes late, huffing and flushed from embarrassment. I worried that I would make no friends. All of my worries were of this nature, trivial. I didn't know anything about life back then.

My friends and I go shopping for the perfect first day outfits, ones that make us look mature and sophisticated. We are so naive. I have done everything to prepare myself for the world of high school, but it proves to be futile. I'm scared shit-less.

The morning of my first day is rushed and chaotic, consisting of me running circles around my house and my father Charlie watching anxiously, not knowing how to help or comfort. I trip down the stairs, falling right on my face, and do something I haven't in years: cry. I cry, not because I am actually hurt, but because I am uncontrollably overwhelmed.

Charlie drives me to the high school, pulling up to the front door where herds of students file haphazardly out of their cars. Some of them walk nonchalantly to the door, strutting forward slowly with their bags hanging off their shoulders: upperclassman. Others speed to the brick building with a cautious and frightened look in their eyes: my people.

Charlie looks at my concerned face. "You'll be fine, Bella. High school isn't that different from middle school. It'll be great, I promise." He leans in and kisses me on the cheek, his stubble brushing against my skin like straw on cotton.

"Okay." I take a deep breath, and open the car door, allowing the fresh air to bombard my face and senses. It gives me a steady head and a slight air of confidence. I step to the curb and take a look up at the tall structure, which looks innocent and old. Nothing bad can happen here, right? I turn back to Charlie for a last goodbye, my hand on the doorknob of the car. It is strangely cold, despite the 80 degree New England weather. I ignore the unsteady trembling of my fingers, which look so small on the handle.

Charlie winks at me the way he used to when I was young. It is oddly comforting. "Find some magic today," he coos, and I walk to the door smiling. I have a designer tote on my shoulder, and it is pressing my bra strap painfully into my skin. I feel foolish, thinking that the bag would make me appear more grown-up. I realize after three minutes in the school that everyone knows when you're a freshman. There's no hiding it; upperclassman have a frosh radar.

I spot my best friend Jessica standing by a locker, and I quickly move to her, trying hard not to be that girl running on the first day.

"Jess!" I call, excited to see a familiar face. She looks calm and collected, like she always does, and I am grateful that she is the first person I encounter. She always has a way of calming my nerves, which is one reason why we make such good friends.

"Bella, thank god." She hugs me quickly, and I catch a whiff of the cheap perfume gracing her skin. "I can't get my locker open, but I don't want anybody walking by to notice."

I laugh, and it echoes loudly and obnoxiously through the halls; it is my mother's laugh, which I have, regretfully, inherited. Three seniors walking by at that moment stop dead to stare at me, and raise their eyebrows judgmentally. I shove my hand over my mouth, eliciting laughter from Jessica.

"How did you get a locker?" I ask.

"I went into the secretary's office and requested one. My sister told me to do it. She said having a locker was the secret tool to success here."

"Ah." I often wish I had an older sibling to help me through momentous things like these. I always wish I had a mother for the same reason.

"Here," she says, handing me the slip of paper with the locker combination on it. "You try." I glance quickly at the numbers, spinning the locker dial to match. It opens easily, and I shake my head at Jessica's incompetence.

Jessica and I both stash our lunches in the top, thankful to have them out of our bags. When I reach to push my brown paper bag in the compartment, a slip of white paper twirls to the linoleum floor. At first I think it's just the locker combo, so I bend down to pick it up. I don't like to litter. The slip is small and rectangular, and black letters leap out from one side. I immediately recognize it as a Chinese cookie fortune, and cock my head questioningly at it resting on the floor. I wonder how long it has been in the locker. It was probably left by a senior last summer, and remained unnoticed by the custodians. I think maybe it is a message from fate, and I quickly pick it up to read.

_The One you love is closer than you think._

"Hey J, look at this." She looks at the fortune and laughs.

"I'm right here, baby," she says in a mock seductive voice. I push away her kissy face and shut the locker, stuffing the paper in my shorts pocket. The bell rings overhead, and I have a sudden flash of recognition that this will be one of the first sounds I hear every morning for the next four years. I shudder at the thought.

"Where do we go now?" I grip Jessica's arm playfully, laughing at her obvious lack of a clue.

"Homeroom," I state surely. Mine is up the stairs to the left, room 303, and I know exactly how to get there. I also know that when I approach the door, I will have absolutely no idea what to do with myself.

Jessica's homeroom is in another part of the building, so she heads off away from me, parting goodbye with a hesitant little wave. I take shallow breaths as I climb the stairs, trying to steady my pounding heart. My body is buzzing with nerves, my adrenaline thumping in my veins. I can hear my heartbeat in my temple.

Streams of students pass through the main hall like fish stuck in a stream. I am drowning hopelessly and nothing in my vision is clear. Finally, from memory alone I imagine, I find the door to my homeroom. My two advisers are standing outside the doorway, with smiles that are too big and clipboards in their hands.

"Hello! Welcome to homeroom 303!" The first adviser, a small woman with fake blonde hair, grins at me exuberantly.

"We're the fun homeroom," the second whispers with a sheepish grin. He is tall and lanky and wears Converse high-tops with his suit. I try to smile at him.

"What's your name?" he asks.

"Isabella Swan." I hate the first day of school, because I have to refer to myself as Isabella, as that is the name on all of my school records. It makes me nervous though that I will be setting a bad precedent by using it myself. I don't want to make it okay. I am Bella for a reason.

"Isabella, here you are. We have assigned you a seat. It's the desk labeled 2."

"Thanks," I muster, avoiding their eyes and open-mouthed smiles. "And I go by Bella," I add.

I walk into the room, where the desks are arranged in a giant horse-shoe. There are a handful of students already seated, most of whom I have never seen before and none who I want to talk to. Naturally, I know a couple of people from my past school, but they are not people I have ever been close with or can really befriend in the moment, so I keep to myself as I find desk number 2. They are set up in numerical order so of course I am practically next to the board, the door, and therefore the advisers.

The second bell rings as the rest of the students file into the class and sit down. The person on my right, in seat 1, is from my middle school who I know enough to at least say hello to.

"Hi, Bella!" she chirps happily in return. "I'm so nervous to be here, aren't you? At least our homeroom looks great!"

"Sure." I don't know what else to say. I don't quite agree with her sentiment. The seat on my other side is the only seat in the room that is empty. It makes me uncomfortable, and I feel exposed to other people's glares. No one is glaring at me, though. Everyone else looks just as crazed as I feel, whether the look in their eyes is from excitement or from fear. Mine, I imagine, is a mixture of both.

The advisers enter the room and stand at the board, full of energy and brightness. They do roll call, even though they checked off all of our names at the door. I don't recognize the name that belongs to the missing desk. But I continue to fidget as the open space grows perceptibly larger, and my irritation at the invisible student grows stronger.

I go through my day slowly, numbly. I am trying to keep myself afloat in this strange new water world. I keep expecting more waves, the universe trying its hand at drowning me. I won't let them.

I have the comfort of knowing people in all of my classes, and the intrigue of meeting brand new students. I even make a couple of shallow friends, relationships that nervous people cling too that I know will never last the year. Real friendships persevere because the build-up is so great. I know that I'm not experiencing that yet.

I'm annoyed that I am already given homework on the first day.

I'm happy that other people seem to like me.

I am skeptical of my teachers, whose over-compensating gestures unnerve me.  
But mostly I am mystified, because the boy whose desk sat empty in homeroom, has a desk in three of my other classes as well. Who is this boy, and why would he miss the first day of high school? Most importantly, why was he placed next to me in all of these classrooms? When it happens for the third time, when roll call begins in my 9th level math class, I am stunned. I marvel at the ghost desk, wondering passively what type of creature is destined to occupy that chair. It has to be some kind of a joke, I conclude. The first test of high school: how long can I believe in something unreal.

It turns out that I was wrong on so many levels.

The next day when I walk into homeroom, a little more sure of myself, my stomach drops into my knees. Sitting in the desk to my left is a tall boy, his back slouched in a way that suggests the magnitude of his strength. The back of his head is decorated in shocking copper; the color of his hair is something I have never seen before, like looking at fire in the dark.

As if he feels my stare penetrating his back, the boy turns around and looks me in the eye. His eyes go straight to mine, emerald green and blazing, and his expression is dark and clouded. When he sees me looking back at him, or more like gawking dumbly, he smiles with a lop-sided grin that sends my heart fluttering. I quickly look to the floor, blushing embarrassingly, and walk too quickly to my seat.

"Hello," he says when I sat down, amused, and smiles at me again. His voice is smooth and deeper than I would have guessed.

"Hi." My face is hot and I worry that the pink on my cheeks has not subsided, so I pretend to busy myself with my backpack and refuse to look him in the eye. My veins are pounding against my skin, and I silently will them to calm.

"What's your name?"

I clear my throat, and then worry that the gesture sounds masculine. "I'm Bella."

"Bella," is his only response. His voice seems to caress my name and I almost die right then and there.

I believe in love at first sight, but have never experienced it before. I have never even lusted after a person instantly. But there is something different about the way this boy smiles, the way his look makes my muscles twist and my face flush. I knew right then and here that I was done. Charlie's words from yesterday flash back to me. _Find some magic._ I discreetly peek sideways and am met with cool green. All I can do is laugh inwardly. I think I have.

Our advisers enter the room and begin roll call for the day, and this time I pay very close attention, waiting for the name destined to send my heart flying for the rest of my life.

"Edward Cullen?" They call, and his name saturates the air.

"Here," comes the voice from my side, and my soul disappears somewhere into the cosmos.


	6. Temperance

Temperance

February 2011

"Edward Cullen?" Angela whispers to Alice, confusion clouding her tone.

"Who the hell is that?" Alice just shakes her head, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Holy hell," is all Rosalie says, over and over. Emmett has a dumbly proud expression on his face, completely unaware of what is actually happening. He is clearly drunk already, and sober Emmett is oblivious as it is.

I remain quiet throughout the majority of this, staring blindly. The party turns out to be a bust, so Alice suggests we catch the train and ride into Harvard Square to get frozen yogurt. With questions of Edward lingering in the air, filling my lungs and threatening to suffocate me like smoke, I oblige willingly to a frozen treat. I know Rose is going to ask Emmett to join us, and I continue to hold my breath.

Rosalie and Emmett, hand-in-hand, lead Alice and myself out of the frat and across campus to the bus station. Angela stays behind with her boyfriend, and Alice spends the entire walk chirping into the phone with hers. I look at intermingled fingers and joyful smiles, hearing the happy incantations in Alice's voice and the comfort of Rosalie's stance with Emmett so close to her. I look down at myself, my two feet wobbling unsteadily in my fancy shoes. My hands hold my bag and nothing else. My phone is silent; my mouth is flat. In this moment, I feel more alone than I ever have in my entire life.

When I was young, really young, I looked forward to growing up. I thought life was going to be great back then. I looked at my mother, beautiful in everything she was, walking around with an air of confidence and a look of pride when she spoke to me.

"Bella," she had said to me, in a voice like butter. "Life is going to be so easy for you."

"You think so, Mommy?" was my childish response.

"Of course," she assured. "All you need in life is two things: to love and to be loved." I wasn't sure it was that simple.

I hear the echo of my lonely footfalls as I look up at the dark sky. The moon is still frighteningly bright, but in it all I can see is peace.

Luckily for us, the bus arrives right as we reach the stop, and takes us to the train station. It is quiet this late at night, and there are few people waiting for the train. The only other life we pass is a middle aged couple sitting together on a cement bench, their arms wrapped around each other. I almost leap for the tracks.

I hate trains for two reasons.

One, they are dirty. I am no fan of public transportation, but find it to be a necessary tool in college life. Still, I cringe every time I step on the platform, and avoid skin contact with anything on the train. There is a bottle of questionable fluids in the aisle and a plastic bag that holds either puke or a bomb stuffed under one row of seats. A homeless man is asleep in the corner, missing a shoe.

Second is the windows. You sit in the plastic seat, trying not to look in the eyes of strangers. So instead, you force your gaze across the way into the ghosted windows, reflecting back at you like a haunted mirror. It is worse, because you are forced to look into your own eyes, and see everything in them that you hope you will never see there. All the ghosts of your past, thrown back at you, marring your face with shadows and lines. I tend to close my eyes for this reason, and my friends always think it strange. They don't understand though. They don't see what I see.

It is in this state that I make it to Harvard Square, completely numb and mindlessly gliding with the group. This happens sometimes, when whole chunks of time fall through my memory, unable to be recalled back. I wonder where they go. There must be some black hole storage somewhere in the depths of my brain that keeps secrets from me and won't let me in. I think my love is somewhere down there too.

"So Emmett, you've known Bella long?" Rosalie starts the conversation in an attempt to end the general discomfort emanating from the group.

"Oh yeah, Belly was over our house all the time. Her and Edward were inseparable."

"Belly." Rosalie raises her eyebrows at me, trying to contain her laugh. It is the first time I have ever hated the nickname. It hasn't been used in such a long time, but now it is tainted, muddied by the ash and smoke of loss. Like everything else. I can't focus on much of anything, and my head is spinning. It is a state that I find myself in periodically; I will my mind to twirl in a useless attempt to confuse my body, hoping it will expend energy on something other than trying to silence my screaming heart. Every once in a while it works. Other times I feel my heartbeat slow and wonder if this is the moment when it will finally cease its pained game.

For the moment, Emmett and Rosalie's conversation veers off into something irrelevant, at least, irrelevant to me. I need to know about him. I only want the bare minimum, just enough to drive me clinically insane. The only thing worse than distance, I find, is ignorance. And I am ignorant as a fool. Blisslessly so.

The last time I spoke to Edward was two months ago. But it wasn't a real conversation. It was the polite exchange of two people catching up, nothing more and nothing less. I don't know what is going on in his life. It is something so foreign to me. I crumple under the weight of that discomfort. What is worse is that I can't see his face anymore. That was always my doorway into his mind. He could say whatever he wanted but I would know, looking into his emerald eyes, the real truth. Without them, I am without my compass, not knowing whether his silence is driven by hurt or by resolve. Does he think about me every day, the way I think about him? Are his periodic texts the manifestation of his strength cracking, or the rare moments when I cross his mind? My brain pretends it's the former, but my heart feels it is the latter, and that absolutely kills me.

"Emmett," I start, knowing I have to do it before something else inside of me implodes. Emmett turns to look at me thoughtfully, the way he always has when I speak to him. "How is he? Edward I mean?"

Emmett looks as if he reads nothing into this, as if I am simply curious and nothing else. That is fine by me. That is why I always liked talking to Emmett.

"I wouldn't know. I haven't seen him in 7 months."

Huh? How is that possible, when the Cullen family is so close?

"Actually," he clarifies, "I haven't spoken to him at all since he left." I am thoroughly stumped, and slightly impatient. I need more information and I need it quickly. I am also frustrated that I haven't tried harder to update myself on his life. Why haven't I asked him? Why haven't I called his mother to check in?

These thoughts bring me back to Emmett's last two statements. I do the mental work and merge them together. Emmett hasn't spoken to Edward in over half a year. For whatever unknown reason that is, Edward had reached out to me more than his brother. I have no friggin idea what to do with that.

"Left? Left where?"

"Edward dropped out of Brown after the first couple of weeks. He told Mom that it wasn't working for him, that he couldn't find what he was looking for. He's been in Europe for the past 6 months."

I am astounded. That doesn't sound like Edward at all. He deeply valued his Ivy League Status, and was doing wonderfully on their track team. I can't imagine him not finding happiness there, which is what I assume he was alluding to in his vague excuses to his mother.

Rosalie looks at me and I duck my head to avoid her gaze. I can feel her eyes burning into me, full of questions and demands that I have no immediate desire to attend to. Worse though, is the echoing burn I feel in my chest. A combination of confusion and frustration, laced together by the ever-present ping of regret threaten to suffocate me internally. I hate it, that feeling. That feeling that lies dormant in my body until Edward's name drifts past my ears. I thought the feeling would dull after extended time apart. I thought it would cease altogether if I stopped thinking about him and his beautifully fucked up soul. The pain around my heart screams at me: you can never escape this.

Emmett looks around at the blank stares on all of the girls' faces. For once, even he is at a loss for words. Everybody is quiet and no one makes any move to change the subject, or inquire any more. I swallow the coal in my throat and turn back to Edward's brother. _I_ need more.

"What is he doing in Europe, Emmett?" I don't remember Edward ever wanting to go to Europe. What could he possibly be doing there? He loves experiencing new things, sure, so maybe that is the motivation. But what the hell do I know anyway. Not Edward, after all.

"I don't know, Bella." He is clearly annoyed at my question, but softens his voice when he looks at my face. I hope to hell that the tortured expression mirrored in his eyes isn't mine. "Mom thinks he's taking culinary classes in France. I don't know why she thinks that, but I have a feeling she's had more contact with him than she lets on."

Rosalie suddenly clambers to her feet and grabs my hand, probably in an attempt to distract me. "Let's get some froyo," she squeals, a little too chipper.

"Okay."

We both walk to the counter and stare up at the giant board of flavors on the wall. This particular place changes its flavors daily, based on available product and seasonal freshness. My eyes hyper-focused on the third flavor, and my cheeks brighten automatically. Rosalie notices the red creeping across my nose and raises her eyebrows in confusion.

"I'll have a cup of chocolate hazelnut, please," she tells the server, who nods and scoots off toward the machines.

"And for you, ma'am?" The other server is standing right in front of me, looking at me expectantly. The southern twang to his voice is charming, but questionably misplaced in this New England yogurt shop.

"Passion fruit."

He smiles at me pleasantly. "Not many people order that one." He shuffles off in the other server's trail.

Rose giggles at my side. "Kid likes you," she whispers, nodding toward the southern boy.

I roll my eyes at her. "Please."

"Bella, you wouldn't know flirting if it smacked you over the head."

I pout. "I would too," I whine petulantly. Maybe she's right though. I'm not stellar at recognizing social cues when it comes to flirtatious boys.

The servers return simultaneously and hand us our respective dishes. I glance down at the gloriously yellow mound and flush. I have always loved passion fruit things. It is an exotic taste I tried once with my father on a trip to Puerto Rico, and it has been my favorite ever since. I haven't met many people who share the interest, or even know of it in the first place. To be honest, I only know of one other person who likes it as much as I do. Sigh.

We return to our seats, where Emmett has taken up light conversation with Alice. I take that as confirmation that all talk of Edward is finished for this evening. I relish this thought, but naturally I remain uncomfortable. That tight feeling in my chest has returned, and I know it will continue to linger, unbearably, until I see him again. And with that need, both to ease the pain and look in his eyes, my resolve to keep him out of my life dissolves into nothing, like smoke on water. I laugh at myself, and take a deep breath. I have nothing to lose, after all, but oh so much to gain.


	7. Gluttony

Gluttony  
April 2009

The sky is bursts of pinks and oranges, with licks of blue trailing the horizon. Edward and I are chasing the sunset as we drive away from home, the miles passing under our tires like water flowing down a riverbank.

"This was a great idea," he says as he flashes me a brilliant smile. This plan has been all his and spur of the moment, and he is exceptionally proud of himself. I have no idea where he is taking me.

"What exactly _is _this plan?" I inquire skeptically. Edward is known for his exuberance, which in my experience, usually translates to over ambition. Quite frankly, he simultaneously thrills and unnerves me.

He shoots me that devious grin again. "You'll see." He continues driving on 95 North, and the giant green signs fly by with alarming speed. _Where are we going?_ We begin passing towns I have never even heard of, and we are now at least 45 minutes from Lexington. I have no idea what he has up his sleeve, but I am excited to find out. We rarely spend time together, just the two of us, and almost never under these circumstances. It isn't like Edward to shirk his Captain responsibilities for pleasure. But, to be fair, I am doing the same.

Edward and I had both been at school, stuffed in our gymnasium for an Athletic Association sponsored event. The volleyball team was playing tonight's game in honor of a Lexington alumnus who had died of cancer. The proceeds of various raffles, food sales, and entertainment at this game would go to Cancer Research in that alumni's name. It was Lexington's most popular yearly event, and it really brought the school together for an evening. I loved going every year and I was especially excited for this one. I was finally a varsity captain, so it was my duty to make sure the entire field hockey team was there to support, decked in Lexington colors and glowing with pride. Edward was to do the same, with the boy's cross country team under his command. Coincidentally, the field hockey and boy's cross country teams were seated next to each other on the bleachers labeled "Varsity Teams" set aside for fellow athletes. I had smirked when I saw it. What were the chances.

High.

"Hey Bell!" Edward stood up from his spot on the bleachers to wave me over. My entire team snickered behind me, patting me on the ass suggestively.

"Oh good, Bella, your boyfriend's waiting for you."

I smacked their hands away, rolling my eyes in warning. "Screw off."

A smile lit my face as I rushed over to where he was waiting. I took the spot next to him, scooting next to a freshman on his team. The freshman kept eyeing me, and it made me chuckle nervously. The game began and Edward and I chatted normally. The gym was stuffy and I was sweating, even though I was only wearing jeans shorts and a tank top. I quickly threw my hair in a ponytail to get it off the back of my steaming neck.

"It's quite warm," I muttered, fanning myself with my hand.

"Yes, it is," he whispered, looking me in the eye. He then got up without a word and stalked off down the bleachers, disappearing. Weirdo.

I turned to Jessica, my co-captain, who was on the bleacher below me yelling at our girls.

"J," I hissed. She turned and fixed her expression, from one of anger to joy.

"Hey Bells," she said, raising her eyebrows at me. "How ya doing up there?"

"I think I'm dying."

Her look became more pointed, studying me. "You don't look so hot. What's wrong?"

I took a few deep breaths, and the movement radiated through my chest. I was struggling to get oxygen to my head, which was pounding like a jack hammer. "I don't feel well. I think I need my inhaler," I joked, although I wasn't entirely unsure that it wouldn't help. Jessica laughed and took my joking as a sign that I didn't require medical attention.

Edward strode back into the gym, his expression tense. He quickly ambled his way back to the bleacher and nearly jumped up to his spot. He sat down and handed me a cold water bottle, not looking at me. It took me by surprise.

"Thank you," I stuttered, confused but grateful. I uncapped it and gulped down half the bottle.

"Mhhm," he mumbled, his shoulders relaxing. His jaw went slack and a slight smirk raised the corner of his mouth, but he kept his eyes on the volleyball game playing in front of us. I hadn't been paying attention to it since the first point was scored.

The water helped a little, but I was still light-headed and starting to get paranoid. The last thing I needed was to pass out in the middle of the school's biggest event of the year.

"I'm getting some air," I announced, collecting my bag and rising from the unrelenting plastic of the bleacher.

"Okay," Edward said, but instead of moving his legs to let me pass, he stood up and put his hand gently on my back, guiding me through the throngs of people. We wormed our way through the cluttered halls, past people donning every shade of blue and gold, until we reached the back entrance of the school. I broke through the imaginary shield of the doorway and inhaled deeply. The air was crisp and cool in my lungs.

"What's wrong, Bella?" Edward stared at me earnestly, and I was momentarily confused as to why he looked so concerned. _I'm fine, right? _I returned his intense gaze, my eyes drifting over his hair and his beautiful face, with brilliant green eyes covered in lines. My chest tightened at the magic emanating from this person. I was overwhelmed at the feelings he elicited in me. Overwhelmed was probably the wrong word. Terrified sounded more accurate.

"Do you want to get out of here?" he asked, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. I nodded. He started off toward the student parking lot and I had no choice but to follow. I never really _chose_ to follow Edward anywhere. Something deep within my being simply pulled me toward him.

I spotted Edward's car easily, as it was parked in his usual spot, covered in bumper stickers that highlighted his various successes from track meets and the like. He opened the passenger side door for me and I sat down, reveling in the scent of his car. It smelled like Edward. It smelled like comfort. He hopped in the driver side and quickly turned on the engine, softening the radio to a soothing lull. It very nearly put me to sleep until my curiosity got the better me. I didn't ask where we were going because I didn't need to know. I would go anywhere he wanted to take me.

And that is how we got to this moment, with Edward turning off on an exit that bears no resemblance to any place I have ever been before. I start to get excited, knowing fully well that I am going to break curfew tonight and not caring in the least. People always say that life is about moments that need to be cherished. I am ready for this one.

"Okay, I don't know exactly how to get there, but I think I'll find it okay." Edward turns the radio all the way off so he can concentrate better. The windows are down and a breeze glides through the car, gracing my face with a familiarity I can't place. Then it hits me. I taste salt on my tongue.

"Are we near the ocean?" I wonder confusedly, my excitement rising ever so slightly.

"I hope you're ready for the beach," he answers, and his whole face lights up in the glow of the dashboard. The beach is my serenity. I love it more than anything else in the world. I am fleetingly stunned that Edward thought to take me here. His thoughtfulness endlessly delights me.

The parking lot is dark and deserted, and I wonder for a moment if we're allowed to be here. _Oh, well_. I am mesmerized by the roar of the waves in the distance, long strands of swaying sea grass beckoning me home. I start walking toward the water without a thought. I can sense Edward behind me, until I feel his hand in mine. He wraps his fingers around me, and it sends a shiver through me. I realize suddenly that I'm cold, despite the blazing heat radiating from his skin.

"It's chilly up here," I mention, baring my shoulders against the breeze.

"Here," Edward says, releasing my hand. I frown, until I notice him shrugging out of the grey track sweatshirt he's wearing. He hands it to me and I slip it on. It's huge and falls to my knees, so it looks like I'm wearing nothing else. I hide my smirk and grab his hand once again.

When we finally reach the sand, I stop dead. The view is absolutely breathtaking. The moon is looming large and gorgeous over the water, which manages to shine silver in the black blanket of night. The sand is pure white, and a lighthouse in the distance stands proud, its red roof reflecting sparks at the horizon. We both leave our shoes at the sand line and tiptoe onto the beach.

"Bells, look!" Edward tugs at my hand and nods his head toward the sand. Around our feet like a glowing halo are millions of fluorescent dots.

"What are those?" I ask, incredulous.

"I don't know, some kind of bioluminescent sea creature. Isn't it beautiful?" I continue toeing the sand, moving my feet slightly around. The lights follow my movements, casting a blueish green glow in my wake.

"Incredible," I murmur, and glance up to see Edward staring at me. "What?" I ask, feeling self-conscious.

"Let's go feel the water." He drops my hand and saunters off toward the shore. He's in an odd mood, and I'm not sure why. The outline of his back against the waterline is enchanting. Through his t-shirt, the muscles of his shoulders are prominent, and I smile at his jeans rolled up to his knees.

I run toward him, my feet slowed by the sand. I revel in that sensation. I use my momentum and jump on his back, laughing at his grunt.

"Am I heavy?" I joke.

"Pshhh." I wrap my legs around his waist, letting my arms dangle in front of his throat. He clutches my upper thighs tightly and walks us easily to the water.

"Maybe if you actually had hips, this would be easier," I laugh, elated and completely intoxicated by the air and the moon and this moment. His laugh is loud and carefree, and I can feel myself grinning in the dark. I rest my chin on his shoulder blade as we stand at the shore, gazing out at the depths of the Atlantic. I am tempted to lean in and brush my lips against his neck, but I don't. We're only friends after all. _He doesn't feel that way about you_, I remind myself. And I would never want to ruin our friendship. My heart is pounding in my chest and I hope desperately that Edward can't feel it against his back. If he does, he neglects to mention it. I wonder achingly what he is thinking in this moment, but I don't dare ask it aloud. I wonder how long I'll be able to hold on this way.

"Here, let's go to the rocks over there." He turns and points toward the walls of bronze rock on the West side of the beach. He starts trucking that way, bouncing a little to remedy my slipping. I feel bad though, knowing I am no light carry-on.

"I'll walk," I say, and drop to the sand.

"Okay," he answers, "but you were light as a feather." He winks at me, and even in the dark I can see his eyes sparkle. I realize as I follow him that this night has been unusually quiet. Typically, though, we talk when we need to, but not because we have to. Maybe Edward is just feeling quiet tonight. I always thought our friendship worked because we were such opposites in most regards. Edward was verbose in the extreme, and I was more of a listener. It wasn't that I didn't have anything to say; I just felt that some things were better left unsaid.

When we reach the rocks, Edward climbs up. The sharp points of the precipice frighten me, especially because I can't see them. I'm clumsy, and not much for nature.

"Uhh," I start, keeping back from the wall.

Edward leans down and throws out his arm. "Step there," he points, and I grab his hand to keep me steady on the narrow ledge. I follow his instructions, placing my feet in strategic places until I manage to get to where he is. We're about 15 feet off the ground, not exceptionally high, but the view is stunning. We can see the entire span of the beach, and the endless skyline. We can also see every single star in the galaxy. It's blinding.

I drop to my butt, and pull my knees up to my chest. I'm lost in the sea of the stars and I don't mind at all. I'd wander there forever. Edward slinks down silently, appreciating everything the universe has to offer. In moments like these, I feel so thankful. This world really can be a lovely place.

"I'm glad we came here," Edward whispers in my ear. "I wouldn't want to be with anyone else." I don't have to look at him; I can feel his smile with my soul.

"It kind of scares me," I say suddenly. The words slip out, but I'm not quite sure what my mind is thinking right now.

"What does?" _It scares me how I feel right now. It scares me that you're going to be gone._

"The future," is my best response. And it's true. The possibilities of the future should intrigue me, but I'd be lying to myself if I said I wasn't petrified. "College, leaving, all that. I don't like not knowing. I don't like change."

"I know. But that's ridiculous, Bella. You can't let fear get in your way. You have such a bright future ahead of you. You are nothing short of a brilliant person and you are going to have an amazing life. Embrace the sheer incredibility of that."

I don't know what to say. Edward always has a way of making everything alright. He paints over everything that is grey and makes it bright.

I lean over to rest my head on his shoulder, my way of saying thank you for the unending support. I know he'll understand. He surprises me by lying down on the cool rock and taking me with him. He stretches out, pulling my body over his so that my head is on his chest and we're stomach to stomach.

"I'm cold too," he explains. "Someone took my sweatshirt." I giggle, and tilt my head so that I can see the stars. We lay there silently for a long time, just admiring the view, unspoken words passing between us. I guess I just have to leave the future up to fate, trusting that she'll lead me in the right direction. I just wonder how far from Edward's direction mine will be. I stop these thoughts before they can linger. They only cause me harm, little flicks of fire to my psyche.

I'm not sure how long we stay there, but eventually Edward makes movements. He knows I have to get home, even if I fail to care. We start the trek back in deceptively comfortable silence, until we reach the car. Edward lets me into the passenger side, his fingers lingering on my arm for a second or two. Then he shuts my door and saunters to his seat. Time doesn't seem real as we drive away from the perfect harmony of the beach. I recline my seat and close my eyes. With the hood of Edward's sweatshirt surrounding me, wrapping me in an embrace of his smell, I drift into sleep. I am only vaguely aware of the soft roar of the engine, the light of the moon shining across the dashboard, and the faint melody of Edward's breaths going in and out.


End file.
